The Shift of the Tide

by Jeffe Kennedy

  “I thought Kiraka told you they locked it away to defeat Deyrr.”

  “Yes, well—you know shapeshifters.” I gave him a brilliant smile. “We lie a lot.”

  “Because truth and lies aren’t an either-or thing.”

  “You do listen, even in the throes of passion.”

  “I’m a man of many skills.”

  “So I’ve discovered.” I feathered my fingers over his hard-edged jaw, over the strong column of his throat. “True or false: am I a woman?”

  “True.”

  “Am I a hummingbird?”

  “Not at the moment, you’re not.”

  I tugged at his chest hair. “You have to answer true or false.”

  He captured my hand and brought it to his lips, kissing my fingers. “Why do you get to make the rules?”

  “My game and I’m making a point.”

  “Fine. False. You are not a hummingbird.”

  “Am I an owl?”

  “False.”

  “Am I a dolphin?”

  “False.”

  “See? But I have been those things, so that means that truth changes over time, therefore it’s not an either-or thing. There is no such thing as truth.”

  He studied me, mouth pursed, a line between his brows. “I’m sure there’s a flaw in that logic.”

  “You’re thinking like a mossback.” I tugged my hand away and pushed down the blanket, admiring the carved muscles of his chest, the flat plane of his abdomen, trailing my fingers along each masculine line of him. “Reality is more fluid than your people like to believe. Nothing stays exactly the same, even for the blink of a moment, thus truth is ever changing, thus there’s no such thing as truth and lies. What was true a moment ago may be untrue now. What was once a lie might become true once the sun rises.”

  To my great pleasure, I found he’d hardened again, and wrapped my fingers around his cock, savoring the very soft skin at the head. He flexed his hips, pushing through the circle of my fingers with a groan. “You should rest,” he murmured. “Sleep, I mean.”

  “But you keep asking me questions.” I kissed the tip of his cock, then tasted him, and he hissed something, burying his hands in my hair. Taking that as an invitation, I pulled him deeper into my mouth, pleasuring him and enjoying the way he moved under my ministrations. Not so in control now. I drove him to the edge, then backed off, laughing when he cursed at me, ignoring his impatient pulling at my hair.

  Instead I tormented him as he’d done me, kissing, licking and nipping at his thighs, the hollow of his groin and the hard line of his hip bones. Once he’d settled into resignation, I took him into my mouth again, deeper, working him hard and fast, until he was gasping my name. This time when I backed off to tease him more, he surprised me by sitting up and pulling me onto his lap.

  He lifted me under my thighs and settled me onto his cock, face ridged with concentration. Happy enough, I flexed, riding him, loving the depth of him inside me. He seized my hips, holding me still. “Wait.”

  “No,” I breathed, and squeezed my internal muscles around him. He gasped, a choking laugh and threw back his head, throat straining. Such a gorgeous man. I kissed the underside of his jaw, biting into the corded muscle of his neck, sucking hard as if I might feed on him. He groaned, hands digging into my hips, but without the same focus, so I pumped, riding him.

  He let go with a shout, forgetting his quiet privacy, face contorted with the pleasure-pain of yet another climax. I slowed, letting him come down gently from it, showering his face with kisses. He sagged back and I followed, nestling against him.

  Finally he breathed a laugh, hands running up my back. “You might kill me after all.”

  I propped my chin on his chest. “I did warn you.”

  He smoothed the hair back from my face, eyes warm with deep emotion. “It would be worth it.”

  Uneasy at what I saw in him, at the fervency in his voice, I rose. The mermaid, wanting what she couldn’t have, poised instead to destroy it. “My turn to play handmaiden.” I fetched a cloth, giving it to him, and using one on myself. The phrase reminded me of Jepp’s remarks, including her one on hearts being involved. I knew mine wasn’t, but if Marskal’s was…. My hair had tangled hopelessly and I tried finger combing it. I’d grown so lazy with shifting, going to another form and coming back clean, my hair unsnarled. Marskal watched me, an arrested expression on his face.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he said, almost to himself, “but that’s not the only reason I—that I’m interested in you. You’re magical, and wild, and free. You remind me of being deep in the forest or high on a mountain, far away from the business of civilization. Places where the very air feels full and fraught with something pure and wonderful. You’re unlike any other woman I’ve ever known.”

  “Because I am unlike mossback women.”

  His mouth twisted in a wry smile. “You don’t have to keep reminding me.”

  “I think I do.”

  He sobered at my serious tone. “Why’s that?

  “A question for you.”

  He raised his brows in inquiry, a flicker of his old suspicion in his eyes. Good.

  “True or false: are you in love with me?”

  If I’d expected him to deny it or prevaricate, he proved that, even in this, he wouldn’t flinch. “True,” he said slowly. “How did you know?”

  I shook my head at him. “You said so. I remember it from when I was a hummingbird.”

  “I didn’t think you’d remember much of being a hummingbird.”

  “Some. Impressions, feelings. That.” I shrugged a little, those memories an irritating reminder. “Also I could feel it in you when we had sex, and it evoked those memories. It was in your eyes. It’s there now.”

  He lowered his gaze slightly, lowering a hood over that vulnerability, though it was far too late.

  “How long have you felt this way?” I asked.

  “Why does that matter?” He met my gaze again, but his expression had gone remote, the reserved warrior.

  I huffed out an impatient breath. “It matters because this is supposed to be about sex, not love. You led me to believe it could be only that.”

  “No,” he said carefully. “I made it clear that I’m willing to take whatever I can have. And that I don’t expect anything of you.”

  I sat on the bed beside him, laid a hand on his chest, which he covered with his, though his gaze remained wary. “It’s not a good idea.”

  One side of his mouth lifted, not exactly a smile. “People don’t fall in love because it’s a good idea.”

  “No? Why do you think they fall in love?” I was genuinely curious what his answer would be. I’d never quite understood it myself. I loved my family, and I cared deeply about my friends. That little unnamed daughter of Anya’s—I’d loved her with crippling intensity, which made no sense as she’d barely lived long enough for me to know her at all. But I’d always known I’d take Final Form, that falling in love with someone, having that kind of relationship would never happen for me. In my heart, I’d already become the dragon.

  Marskal was watching me, a curious line between his brows. “That’s a strange question to ask.”

  “Does that mean you don’t have an answer?”

  “I’m not sure there is an answer. Besides—you’re a ‘people,’ too.”

  “I don’t think that’s necessarily true. I’m not the same, anyway. But I want to know what you think the reason is.”

  “Maybe it’s like your spectrum of truth and lies—people fall in love for lots of reasons, and those reasons change from moment to moment, day to day.”

  “Waxing and waning.” I nodded. “And sometimes it’s a lie. People deceive themselves all the time, wanting to be in love when they really aren’t.”

  “Or,” he said, giving me an intent stare, “pretending they don’t feel anything when they do.”

  I waved that off. “The point is that what you feel now could be an emotion of the moment—or rather,
of this shared time together, since you won’t tell me how long you’ve nursed this idea. You might get over it.”

  Now he frowned in truth. “It’s not a stomach illness, Zynda. I’m in love with you, not suffering a disease or traumatic disorder I need to recover from.”

  “I think it would be better if you did,” I told him, trying to make him understand. “I’m not the right woman for you. Loving me will only bring you pain in the end.”

  “Your opinion is noted,” he replied evenly.

  “But disregarded?”

  In response, he wound a lock of my hair around his finger and tugged me down for a long kiss. It felt questioning and reassuring at the same time. I wasn’t sure what answer he sought, but he seemed satisfied. “Lie down with me and sleep a bit,” he murmured against my lips.

  “This is your way of avoiding the argument.”

  “There’s nothing to argue. This is my way of getting some sleep, which you need, too. Let’s rest a while.”

  Because I felt sleepy, I did as he asked, snuggling up against his warmth, liking the way his arm curved around me as I found my spot, fitting exactly into his shoulder. He pulled the cover up around us. “We should have doused the lantern,” he said, sounding far away.

  A small thing, so I reached out a tendril of magic and suffocated the flame. He laughed a little, and kissed my forehead. “And you ask me not to find you miraculous,” he said.

  I was too far into falling asleep to argue.

  Bright light and shouting awakened me. Not of alarm, but of sailors calling orders, relaying information. The ship creaked, changing speed and direction. We must be nearing Nahanau. I stretched, remarkably sated, but alone in the bed—and surprised that Marskal had managed to leave without waking me and that he’d left me at all. And at the ensuing tinge of disappointment. I should be delighted to have some time alone at last.

  When the door opened and he entered, carrying a tray of food and other things, it all made sense. He gave me a crooked grin and set the tray on the desk. “Good morning, lovely lady,” he said.

  I raked back my snarled hair, not feeling particularly lovely, but replete and relaxed enough to return the smile. “Tell me you have water to wash with.”

  He set out a bowl and filled it from a pitcher of water, setting a bar of soap beside it. Then, with a flourish, he presented me with the comb Jepp had used on me. “Moranu bless you,” I exclaimed, nearly leaping from the bed and snatching it from him. “How did you know?”

  “I noticed you wanted one last night. Earlier this morning,” he amended with a wry grimace that melted into a broad smile. “That was some night.”

  “It was,” I agreed, pausing in my combing to give him a kiss. He sat in the bolted-down chair, poured himself something that steamed, and watched me work at the tangles—something much more difficult to do than it looked. Maybe I should try shifting… unease curled in my gut at the thought. You’ve lost your nerve.

  “Come here,” Marskal said. “You’re making a hash of it.”

  “A hash?” I asked, but handed him the cursed comb.

  “Kneel down here.” He indicated the floor between his knees, and handed me the steaming mug when I did. Picking up the ends of my hair, he held them so that I barely felt the tugging. “Hash is a good way to eat leftovers—or trail food,” he explained as he worked. “You kind of chop up everything and throw it in together. But it’s also a metaphor for a disorganized mess.”

  “Ah. I’m not practiced at fixing hair messes.”

  “But not because you’re accustomed to servants waiting on you.”

  “No.” I laughed at the thought. “Because I could always just quickly shift to something else, then back to human form—and it would be fine again.”

  “Handy.”

  “Jepp commented the same—though she wanted me to figure out how to shift back armed and bristling with weapons.”

  He chuckled at that. “She would.”

  I sipped the brew in the mug, finding it to be some curiously strong sort of tea. Probably Dasnarian, as it smelled like the spiced oils Jepp had used. It was soothing to have him comb my hair—another kind of petting—and I relaxed into it.

  “But you didn’t want to try that today?” Marskal asked, too casually. “A quick and easy shift, and back again.”

  I shrugged and set the tea down, no longer so relaxed. My stomach didn’t care for the spiciness. “Are we near the harbor at Nahanau?”

  “Yes, about to pass the dragon guardians. And don’t tense up—it was just a question.”

  “I’m not tense.” But I could no longer sit still. I rose, took the comb, and handed him back the tea. To my surprise, the snarls had vanished as if they’d never been. “You did a good job. All those nieces?”

  “You’d be amazed at what little girls get into. I’m the one they come to for help with the bad stuff that their moms will threaten to cut out rather than deal with.”

  “Always rescuing the baby birds.” I said it lightly, teasingly, but he remained serious.

  “If you extend my analogy about learning to use a sword arm again after an injury, then I’ll point out that the warrior has to attempt to use it. Letting it hang there leads to atrophy.”

  Atrophy. What a horrible thought. “Whatever.” I added an elaborate shrug.

  “Not talking about it doesn’t make it go away, Zynda.”

  “Talking about it doesn’t fix it, either. I’ll figure it out. It’s my personal business.”

  He regarded me, sipping the tea. “There’s food. Sit and eat.” His eyes wandered over me, heating. “Though you might want to put on your gown first.”

  “Does my nakedness bother you?” I looked around for where the thing might have gone.

  “Over there, on the foot of the bed. And no—I find it…rather wonderful that you’re so unselfconscious being naked around me. I’ve never known a woman like that.”

  “Animals are naked. Sometimes it feels weird to me to wear clothes, particularly if I’ve been other a lot.” I pulled the dress on and sat. “Better?”

  “Not better, but less distracting.” He handed me a slice of bread slathered in honey and a butter made from crushed nuts. “I’m less likely to drag you back to bed this way.”

  I raised my brows at him over the bread, the delicious honey much better than that bitter tea. After I swallowed, I licked the sticky stuff off my lips, his attention drawn and held there. “There’s time,” I purred.

  He yanked his gaze up to mine, blew out a breath in a half-laugh. “Tempting, but we’d better get up top.”

  I shrugged as if I weren’t disappointed, and slathered another slice of bread. “You have a lot of vigor—as much as any lover I’ve had.” More, I conceded privately to myself. No sense making the man cocky.

  He accepted that with a nod, an ironic glint in his eyes. “I am delighted to have done my part for the reputation of my mossback brethren.”

  “Oh you have. I’ll be sure to tell all the Tala women. You’ll have bevies wanting to try you.”

  His jaw hardened, amusement fled, anger in its place. “I don’t want anyone else, Zynda,” he said quietly.

  I shrugged, elaborately, which irritated him more, and grabbed a piece of fruit. “Suit yourself.”

  “Is that how it’s going to be?” He had on his remote face, but he was angry at me. Not that I cared.

  “We discussed this last night. Earlier this morning,” I amended with a saucy smile, but he didn’t return it, so I got serious, too. “You asked what it would take to tame me. Well, the answer is that I can’t be. You call me a wild thing and I am. I won’t be domesticated and added to your collection of farm animals. Pet the tiger, if you like, but don’t forget how easily she can bite your hand off.”

  “I’m not afraid of you.”

  “Maybe you should be.”

  “Why?” He stood, gathered up the last of his weapons. “You can’t shift anymore, which means you won’t be taking Final Form. All you hav
e are your woman’s claws and I’ve already been scored by those—and enjoyed it.”

  I clenched those dull nails into my palms, unreasonably enraged by that. “Don’t you taunt me with this.”

  “With what? It’s just a basic fact we might as well acknowledge. I’ll have to report to Her Majesty that you’ve lost your ability to shapeshift.”

  “Don’t you dare,” I snarled.

  He gave me a mock surprised look. “I have to. She needs to know, for strategy purposes. She’s grown to rely on your shapeshifting abilities, so we have to plan around it. You have your magic, but we both know you’re careful about how you use it. Maybe she can send to Queen Andromeda for someone else to help. Surely there are more magically gifted shapeshifters in Annfwn. Perhaps they can send a troop—that would be helpful.”

  I growled at him, momentarily incoherent.

  He gave me an inquiring look. “Did you say something? I didn’t quite get that.”

  Swallowing back the snarl, I managed a level reply. “I know what you’re doing. And it won’t work.”

  He finished off the tea, expression all reasonable. “What do you believe I’m doing?”

  “Using your skills as a leader of men, seeking an emotional spur to get your wounded soldier not to be afraid of using his sword arm again.”

  “There’s more involved here than just you,” he said very seriously, stacking everything neatly on the tray. “I serve my high queen, first and foremost—something you’ve known all along, and should understand, as much as you go on about your devotion to your own primary loyalties—and we have solid evidence that her realm should expect an attack of unprecedented power and danger. That there might be shapeshifted sleeper spies already planted all over the Thirteen. It would be irresponsible of me not to inform Her Majesty of what I know. And what resources we can—and can’t—rely on.”

  A sense of betrayal stabbed at me, all the more painful for being irrational. “I confided in you.”

  He grimaced, his expression softening, and he set the tray down, coming to me and stroking his hands down my bare arms. “I know you did, but this was never a secret. Even if you and I hadn’t talked about it, I’d have observed the effects of your…encounter with the dragon and reported on them. It may be a point of pride for you, but—”